


The Sweater

by thelogicalloganipus (awkwardkermitfrog)



Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardkermitfrog/pseuds/thelogicalloganipus
Summary: So @virgilient on Tumblr asked if I could do a secret santa for them because their santa ended up being unable. The idea was that Virgil loses his sweater and the only person he lets into his room is Patton. It's probably angstier than wanted, but I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless.





	The Sweater

“Comfy there, Verge?”

Virgil shrugged, wrapped in the heaviness of his favorite quilt at the corner of the couch, curled toes at the edge of the cushion pulling in closer to his body as he adjusted himself. “It’s nice.”

“You really should look into a weighted blanket, Virgil. For nighttimes anxiety.” Logan said, not glancing up from his book. 

“It’s not an anxiety thing. I just like the weight.” Virgil muttered. “Its nice. Like a nice hoodie.”

“Hmm.” Roman looked pensive a moment, then grinned, shooting up suddenly, startling Logan across the table they shared. “An idea! I do declare, my fellow sides, I have an idea!”

“What’s that?” Patton asked playfully, smiling at him, looking back behind the couch. 

“Sweaters! What a grand Christmas idea that would be.” Roman held out a hand dramatically, gesturing to an invisible crowd far above him. “Think, we’ll be warm, and Virgil will get something for his anxiety.”

“I have a hoodie.” Virgil pointed out, curling his body further inward. “It’s kind of overkill.”

“Oh, come now Virgil, it’s been driving me crazy what to get you for Christmas.” Roman tilted his head, eyes pleading. “I mean what to get all of you - and I have an idea for every sweater. Please, let me do this for you.”

“Come on, Verge, let him do it.” Patton cooed. “Come on.”

Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But not ‘til Christmas.”

“That’s two days!” Roman protested, shaking his head. He stopped at the look Logan gave him, sitting back down at the table, reopening his deck of cards. “Fine. Two days. But then you’re going to be blown away, you sour puss.” 

Virgil shrugged, looking blankly at the television as Patton stepped forward to insert A Muppet Christmas Carol, not wanting to let his mind wander towards the tree in the corner of the room. 

* * *

 

A sweater. A gift just for him. 

A gift for him, only for him. 

A sweater.

Virgil looked at the clock as it finally struck six in the morning, signalling the beginning of Christmas eve. He sighed, clammy hands running across his blankets, shaking his head at how much he’d sweat the night before. 

Last Christmas he hadn’t been with the sides. He’d not been accepted yet as a part of Thomas, but instead seemed to be more along the lines of a villain or antagonist to Thomas’s life. He’d spent the day alone, drowning out their celebrations with headphones. Sometimes he wondered if they’d knocked on his door that day, and if he just hadn’t heard them. Sometimes he convinced himself they had. He didn’t really want to know.

He got up, throwing blankets off of himself, letting the cool air wash over his body before going to his closet and getting out some clothes to get dressed, putting his hoodie on last. He stopped at the mirror and put on his daily eyeshadow, glancing every now and then at the hoodie, trying not to focus on it, folding his sleeves over his thumbs as he walked out of his bedroom door. 

“Morning, Verge! Sleep alright?” Patton grinned at him across the breakfast table, sitting next to Logan, who was reading and sipping from a unicorn coffee mug. 

“Mhm. Yeah.” Virgil nodded. He looked behind Patton at the clock on the stove. 6:17am. He let out a long, low breath before walking behind Patton and pouring himself a cup of black coffee from the still hot pot. It was going to be a very long day. 

“Looks like the weather is going to be cold today, especially for Florida. Thomas is going to need to wear a heavy jacket or coat.” Logan mused. “I wonder if Roman will insist on snow.”

“Well he always wants a white Christmas. Then he can sing that song.” Patton said cheerily, sipping from his own coffee cup. He glanced at Virgil and then paused and looked away, looking awkward. “Well, it’s not like every year is perfect, I mean, you know, it’s just-”

“It’s fine. I know I wasn’t here last year. Let’s not make it a thing.” Virgil curled his tongue slightly towards the side of his mouth and looked at Patton just for a second, just enough to get the message across. 

Patton smiled, nodded. Virgil looked back at his coffee and then glanced at the clock again. 6:20am. 

* * *

  
  


Virgil had never quite understood why anyone would want to stay up all night on Christmas. After all, wasn’t it just another day? If anything, the anxieties of getting everyone in Thomas’s life a gift were enough to push him over the edge. This year, though, he would be receiving a gift. A gift just for him. 

What about the others?

Virgil’s eyes shot open as he realized - he didn’t have a gift for the others.

“Think, Virgil. Think.” He muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed, where he’d stayed most of the day. “Think.”

He glanced over at his desk, wondering if a homemade gift would do. He stood up and began searching through papers, searching through supplies, looking for something that would help him find what to do, find what to do for them…

* * *

 

The hours crawled by. They ached. They inched.

Virgil sat at his desk, drawing, shaking his head, wishing he could draw like Roman. He crumpled papers, scribbled over them, and started over and over and over. He groaned loudly, blinking hard, unable to contain himself and wishing for rest, when he looked to his side and saw his clock read 4:00am. 

That meant it was Christmas day. 

He turned back to the papers, trying to get himself to focus, heart hammering with - excitement? Nervousness? He wasn’t sure.

He tried, as hard as he could, not to look at the clock, still drawing, still cursing at himself, over and over, scribbling, writing, waiting - 

“Virgil! Verge!” 

Virgil jumped at the sound of a shout and three loud knocks on his door. He looked at his handiwork, which he’d been staring at - a card for each of the sides. He shook his head, blinking several times, and stood and walked to the door, holding each of them in hand. 

He opened the door to see Patton grinning at him, Roman jumping happily behind him. 

“It’s Christmas! Christmas!” Patton squealed. “I’m so happy that it’s Christmas!” 

Virgil suddenly found himself enveloped in a hug from Patton and coughed, sputtered, trying to hug him back. He looked at Roman, who was also smiling, and raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re not even wearing your makeup, it’s so early.” Roman said cheekily. Virgil found himself released from Patton and suddenly they were all walking down a hallway, Virgil still holding his cards, hoping it was enough.

Logan went first. He had gotten each of the sides a book. For Virgil, a book of peaceful poems. For Roman, a book analyzing different plays. For Patton, a book on birds. It seemed a bit technical for Patton, but Virgil noticed he was happy all the same.

Patton had gotten each of them a scarf, each corresponding to their favorite color.

Virgil handed each of them their cards, with their logos, respectively. He paused, waiting for the sides to laugh at him, say what a horrible artist he was - but that didn’t happen. Patton looked like he was going to cry, Logan was quietly appreciative, and Roman flashed Virgil a huge grin.

Now it was sweater time.

Patton unwrapped his first. He smiled, clapping and laughing, at the dogs on it, the blue color - it was very Patton, very much suited to him.

Logan’s was more color than he normally wore, but still very geometric, still very suited to him.

Virgil unwrapped his slowly, uncertain, wanting to automatically appreciate it. He hadn't’ thought of that - what if he hated it? He pulled it out, purple and black fabric, and looked over the design, which bore his logo. It was soft. It was cozy. It was…

“Nice.” Virgil muttered. He couldn't’ stop staring at it. “Thank you, Roman.” 

Roman grinned. “I’m glad.” 

There were other festivities to be had, but Virgil couldn’t stop looking at the sweater and admiring it. When Roman was singing Bing Crosby’s  _ White Christmas _ , Virgil glanced at its sleeves. In the bathroom, he admired the logo. In the reflections of bulbs and the windows, he glanced at himself in it, sometimes a second too long. It was his. A sweater his for him, specifically. He caught himself smiling, looking down, hiding it, when he did see the look on his face in it. 

That night, Virgil fell asleep in the sweater. He fell asleep in it every night, not wanting the other sides to know how attached he’d gotten to it. Every morning, he would put it away in his drawer, in the same place, folding it precisely and placing a T shirt over it so that it would be safe. Every night, he would gently retrieve the shirt above it, unfold it, and put it on, reminded of warm memories of the first Christmas he was included in.

Except one night.

Virgil opened the drawer to retrieve his sweater, now one of his favorite nightly rituals, and stopped, horrified. 

The sweater wasn’t there. It was just the bottom of the drawer, empty, blank wood. 

“No.” Virgil whispered. He began to look under the shirt next to it, and next to it, growing slightly frantic, moving things swiftly, panicking as quietly as he could. “No, no, no, I cannot lose that, no, no, no. Oh geez no.” 

Virgil threw his clothes on the ground. He went through every drawer. He looked behind the drawer, in spite of being afraid that spiders would be found. He found nothing. No sweater. 

He looked at the mess he’d made, all over his floor, and sat at the edge of his bed, teetering from anxiety, hands in his hair, and let out a long sigh. 

The others couldn’t know how attached he’d grown to it.

* * *

  
  


Three knocks. Virgil looked up, but didn’t answer the door. Those knocks were precise: Logan.

“Virgil, we would be much obliged if you would attend breakfast with us. Will you be joining us today?” 

It was the third day Virgil had stayed in his room, surrounded by a mess of clothing. He also had not changed his own clothing, and the room was starting to have a bit of a noticeable funk. He groaned and shook his head, looking at the place where the sweater had been, wondering for the millionth time how he’d lost it. Sleep walking? Someone taking it? He wondered also how he was ever going to live it down. 

“Alright. We hope to see you up and about soon. Please remember that you are…” Logan paused. “Please remember you are an important part of Thomas’s overall functionality.” 

Virgil shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, which had become greasy in the absence of showering, and looked again at the floor.

Everything in the room had been turned upside down. Drawers opened, closed. Closet torn apart. Boxes dug through. Everything he could open up, he had. Everything he could look through had been sifted through. Everything had been done that he could think of to look for the sweater that he kept telling himself wasn’t important.

It was just a sweater.

Just a sweater.

* * *

  
  


“How’s the dark lord of drama?” 

Virgil glanced up at his door, at the slightly muffled sound of Virgil’s voice. There was something playful in his voice, a voice that was simply trying too hard. 

“Come on, Virgil. We can play a game! I’ll be the villain and you can slay me for the good of the kingdom!”

It was day five and Virgil was beginning to feel comfortable in the room, there, alone. He laid on the floor, spread out over his clothes, wetness pricking the corners of his eyes.

There was a sigh from the door. “Verge, we’re worried about you. Please come out.”

Virgil stared at the ceiling, willing himself to move.  _ Don’t worry about me.  _

He didn’t move.

He listened as Roman sat down against the door, his back thudding against it gently. “I’m quite worried for your wellbeing. I want to know if you’re alright. Can you at least say you’re alright?”

_ Speak. Speak. _

_ Come on, Verge. Speak. _

Nothing came out. 

Virgil laid there, staring at the ceiling, wanting to look at the door but feeling paralyzed, until he eventually heard Roman get up and walk away.

 

* * *

 

There was a swish. 

Virgil looked up and saw something by the door, a piece of paper. He stood up from his bed and walked over, bending down to pick it up, heart pounding.

_ Hey, kiddo. Can we pass notes? _

Virgil walked over to his desk and picked up a pen. He scrawled a simple,  _ Okay _ , and slid it back under the door.

There was a beat. Then another swish. 

_ What’s wrong? _

Virgil sighed in spite of himself. He passed it back, blank.

Another moment. A long moment. 

Then:

_ Come on, Verge. We’re worried about you. I won’t pressure you to tell me what’s wrong, but can I come in? _

Virgil chewed on his cheek, considering. He looked at the mess around his room. He wrote back:  _ You’re not gonna make me tell you? Promise? _

He waited, then it came back:  _ Promise _ . 

Virgil leaned up and unlatched the door, opening it, and watched as Patton walked in. He shut the door as Patton surveyed the room, glancing at the mess and piles of things everywhere. He looked at Virgil, looked at his greasy hair, his sweaty shirt, and smiled, eyes still wide, still impossibly wide. 

“Wow, kiddo, you came through here like a tornado!” 

Virgil tilted his head, looking annoyed that this was the first thing Patton had chosen to say about the state of the room. “I got a little out of control, yeah.”

“Well. You want any help cleaning up?” 

Virgil blinked. “What? No- that’s not-”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. I clean Roman’s room all the time. Don’t tell him that, though. He just thinks the mind palace cleans it automatically.” Patton winked. He bent down and picked up a shirt, beginning to fold it. “Come on, with two people it won’t take nearly as long.”

“Oh. Well…” Virgil watched Patton and observed that he was already folding the shirt. “Alright, I guess.”

“Alright.” Patton nodded, smiling. “What drawer does this go in?”

* * *

 

They spent the afternoon cleaning, putting everything back in its rightful place. Virgil was very particular about his knick-knacks, and Patton was very good at not mentioning that he had in fact folded Virgil’s briefs. At the end of it, Patton looked at their handiwork, at the floor that had re-emerged, and grinned, hands on his hips. 

“See? Not so bad.” 

Virgil nodded in agreement. The floor being blank again was quite nice. He sat on the edge of his bed, surveying it, feeling strange about it all. They still hadn’t found the sweater in their cleaning, which he had halfway hoped would happen. The room looked back at them, looking pristine, and he still couldn’t quite smile sincerely. 

“So. Feeling better?” Patton asked, plopping down on the bed next to him, causing the frame to squeak.

“No.” Virgil admitted. He looked away, ashamed, shaking his head. “I know you guys are worried, I know I’ve been distant, but, the thing isn’t fixed.”

“Okay… well, we could probably help you if you told us what was wrong.” Patton said firmly, still in that gentle voice of his. “We just want to help. Would a hug help?”

“Uh-” Virgil suddenly found himself enveloped in Patton’s arms before he had a chance to answer. It was warm and tight, surrounding him completely, comforting him. He didn’t want to be in it, not quite, but he didn’t fight back, either. The weight was nice, being in someone’s arms was… nice.

The two stayed there for a moment before Patton began to pull away, but Virgil reached out, holding him there, holding him against him.

“Does it help?” Patton asked, rubbing his back gently.

“Ye-yeah.” Virgil admitted. “This… helps.” 

They stayed there a while longer, Patton holding Virgil, letting him release the tension in his body, not saying anything about the wetness on his neck. Eventually, Virgil let go, letting out a long, tired breath, feeling air fill up his stomach; a true breath of air for the first time in a week. 

“Ready to come out?” Patton asked, glancing at the redness of Virgil’s eyes, not mentioning it.

“Yeah.” Virgil nodded, feeling more relief than he’d felt all week. It felt silly, but he didn’t need the sweater if Patton was there. “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
